Ben'waeth [According to the Wind]
The table was not set with white linen and fine silver, crystal goblets
or fragile china. No artistic arrangement of greenery or branches
bearing bitter autumn berries of red and orange graced the centre of
the board. Instead the sturdy square of lovingly crafted and
smoothed golden oak was covered in a simple cloth of humble flax,
unadorned with embroidery or lace. A collection of utilitarian
earthenware plates and bowls clustered near the middle where a squat
pitcher carved from tight-grained seasoned cedar held sweet water
within its aromatic bounds. Cups to match sat within arm's reach,
two of normal size to fit an adult's grasp and one smaller and wider at
the base with two large handles adhering to either side like ridiculous
ears.
In fact, the redwood mug was painted with a silly grinning dwarven face
and had a cover formed in the shape of an absurd little pointed
cap. A thin slit in the rim of the lid situated just above the
artfully rendered expression of mirth permitted fluid to be sipped from
the container. The implement was indeed designed to charm and
entertain a child's eyes and belonged to the chestnut-haired princess
of the Woodland Realm.
The royal family dined together in the nursery since Meril's discovery
of an uninvited guest within the heir's rooms. The table, the same
gracing the royal couple's private balcony and upon which they broke
their fast each day, was crowded near the fireplace and had supplanted
the rocker for the duration of the meal. No amount of
reassurances from Thranduil relieved his wife's mind and despite four
guards stationed in the halls leading up to the sequestered chambers
the agitated mother was not appeased. She remained unconvinced of
the efficacy of her husband's soldiers given the ease with which the
outcast had eluded notice previously.
The King of the Woodland Realm occupied one side of the square and his
beloved consort sat opposite him. Their vivacious toddler sat
between her parents in a tall chair and primly handled her miniature
wooden spoon as she concentrated on bringing the brimming soup to her
lips without spilling a drop. The dark red mouth opened and in
went the broth and the child looked to her naneth for approval.
Meril smiled warmly and Gwilith glowed, dipping the serviceable utensil
down into the nourishing concoction as she turned this enchanting
expression upon her adar. She demonstrated her exceptional skill
for his edification.
"That is very good, Echuiross, you did not dribble any over your chin
this time," Thranduil chuckled and reached out to brush back some of
his elfling's wispy hair still too fine to remain bound in the ribbons
and clasps designed to restrain it. "Soon you will not need to
use the cawesgal [top cover, bib] at all." He tapped the clean
vest tied over his daughter's clothes to protect them from her still
developing co-ordination, for the child was not yet three years of
age. She was obviously very proud that the stark white bib was
still as fresh as when Naneth had secured it round her, and he was
pleased for her. The King glanced up to exchange his joy with his
wife but found her gaze rather less than warm. He sighed the
smallest amount.
"Meril, the butter, if you please?" he said.
"Of course, Hervennen. More sweet bread?"
"Nay, but I thank you."
Silence ensued disrupted only by the normally unnoticed scraping of
fork and knife, chewing and swallowing, the muted thump of a cup set
down, all the nondescript noises that formed the background
accompaniment to every meal, exaggerated by the lack of
conversation. There was too much to say and none of it could
readily be spoken.
"Oh!" the princess suddenly exclaimed and gained the immediate
attention of both her parents. "When Limlas come play?" she asked
brightly, facing her mother. "What Limlas like to eat?"
"Gwilwileth, I do not know the answer to either of those
questions." Meril forced a smile as she spoke and controlled the
flash of rage that tempted her to veto Thranduil's hasty compliance to
his daughter's wilful manipulation. "Adar and I will discuss this
and tell you later."
"Yes, yes," the elfling answered impatiently; her Ada had promised and
so she was not concerned too much about the answer. Ignoring the
undertone of agitation in her mother's statement she imperiously tossed
her head. She wanted advice on what to demand from the kitchens
when her grown-up friend visited. "But what for tea? What
Limlas wanting?"
"I know not, child!" her mother snapped and Gwilith was wise enough to
discern the subject was not to be broached again if she wished to avoid
her Nana's icy, silent, uncompromising anger.
"Do not worry about it, sell dithen [little daughter]. Limlas
will enjoy being with you and not care about tea," Thranduil assured
her kindly. He sent a defiant look into his wife's darkening visage,
daring her to challenge his right to make this decision. Meril's
stubborn attitude was beginning to irk him. If he chose to let
the wild elf visit his child, then she must accede to his wishes.
"I read the book to Tauron, Ada," Gwilith said, excitement in her
words. She recognised her father's reaffirmation that the consent
given would not be retracted but was confused and worried to sense her
parents at odds. As yet she did not comprehend that Legolas was
the focal point of their contention and actually thought she was
changing the subject. She wanted to tell her Ada all about the
big event and plunged right in. "Limlas said was perfect!"
"Perfect? Why I am not one bit amazed at that, hêniell
[girl child]," he smiled and patted her head delightedly. "Would
you like to show me? You may read the book to Taurant again when
he wakes."
Meril held her tongue and instead bided her time. She was not
about to follow in Ningloriel's footsteps, pushed into a power struggle
with her husband over the fate of the disgraced archer. She had
already heard the results of the Council's conclusion and knew the
outcast had been cleared of every charge. She was aware that the
Judgement was under review with further decisions postponed until
Maltahondo was fit to be questioned. She was likewise fully
cognisant of Tirno's rash defence of his foster father and Thranduil's
forgiveness for even that grievous infraction.
What she lacked was insight into the rationale behind this sudden
turnabout in the King's perception of the former heir. Until she
had some further information as to the causes for this change of heart,
she refused to be drawn into disputation. She was a Wood Elf and
fell naturally into a pattern of necessary stealth; never enter into a
dangerous situation without a fair idea of the strength of your
opponent's forces and the depth of the enemy's resolve. She found
her appetite soured and rose to clear away her place at table.
She smiled rather complacently at Thranduil's wary scrutiny.
Aye let him wonder and worry.
She held fast to her maternal indignation over the fact that the fallen
archer would be spared punishment for his trespass and his brash and
ugly threats regarding her children. She was virtually seething
with wrath over her husband's failure to support her claims and insist
on the complete removal of the criminal from their homeland.
Instead the child of Ningloriel is to be welcomed as our daughter's
guest at tea!
Yet despite her anger the royal consort was the one fretting.
What had happened? Had the condemned elf spoken new charges
against her?
Nay or Thranduil would not be quite so calm.
Had some facts been uncovered of which she had not been aware?
A
possibility, but if so they were not made public. She
compressed
her supple lips into a narrow band of vivid disapproval as she quietly
cleaned up.
All the while Thranduil and Gwilith had been chit-chatting away about
the picture book escapade and Meril's eyes grew wide in alarm as she
focused her hearing upon their conversation once more.
"…so dark and dirty and I not see Limlas! Limlas swallowed by the
black air!" Gwilith shuddered as she narrated the tale.
"What dark?" demanded Meril at once. "Where did Limlas take you,
hênnen [my child], and what did he do to you there?" Images
of the gloom in the dungeons below the kitchens loomed up to crowd her
mind.
"Nay, Lind'on and me follow Limlas into a hole in the bathing room
wall. Go up and up and Limlas held a light. Nothing happen;
Limlas swallowed by the dark!" the girl repeated for her mother's
benefit. "Then he crawled out the cabinet, there," she pointed to
the object standing solidly against the rock wall on the far side of
the chamber.
Now both parents were speechless but for different reasons.
Thranduil knew of the escape tunnels of course and was simply amazed
for them to have served such a purpose. He had assumed Lindalcon
had granted entry to the rooms through the outer parlour door.
The archer must have been completely determined to see Taurant to make
use of the hidden passages for Tirno did not appreciate darkness in the
least. Thranduil remembered well the day the youth had somehow
stumbled down into the Vestibule of the Three Doors and the resulting
unholy sound of misery and terror that filled the screaming voice
saturating the stronghold.
But Meril was aghast to learn her child had been dragged through the
filth of some airless chute and frightened unnecessarily all to satisfy
the outcast's stubborn insistence to insinuate his presence where he
was neither wanted nor needed. And even more intense was her fury
against Lindalcon for having permitted such an event to take
place. Not for the last time did she regret the decision to
encourage her eldest's friendship to the disgraced warrior.
"Nay, Echuiross, Limlas was not lost in the darkness," Thranduil
recovered his tongue first and sought to console his frightened
child. "Those tunnels are for our safety. We can always get
free of the mountain if need be, should something block the main doors
and stairs. Limlas just wanted you to see this could be
done. Did he not find his way right to this very room?"
Gwilith nodded solemnly but a residual shiver worked its way through
her.
"But, Ada, I go on garden stairs instead," she announced firmly.
"There will never be such need to choose," said Meril testily.
"Limlas should not have taken you there. If this is the sort of
activity he means to supply for my daughter I will certainly not give
my consent!"
"Indeed, I do not think it was a fitting place to play either,"
Thranduil said with a tone of warning. He would not argue this in
front of Gwilwileth. "Yet I believe I understand his reasoning
for the choice."
With that the King rose and lifted Gwilith from her chair, untying the
over-vest and laying it on the abandoned seat as he held her
close. He could feel the tension in the elfling's body in
response to the barely veiled hostility growing between her parents and
Thranduil was resolved to spare her any further upset. He would
not be the cause for a fresh supply of tears from Echuiross' shining
eyes.
"I sorry, Nana, I tell Limlas to show Tauron book," whispered the child.
"It is all right, Gwilith, I am not angry with you," her Nana smiled
gently and leaned forward to kiss the worry away from the pensive
features. "Go with Ada and get ready for bedtime. You may
read the book to your baby brother tomorrow, alright?" Meril,
too, desired to shelter her young ones from distress and transferred
her gaze to her husband to communicate that wish. She also
transmitted her promise of complete opposition over the matter of the
outcast archer.
Thranduil acknowledged the silent volley with the arching of a single
golden brow. Reserving his ammunition for the real sortie, he
left, trotting away in a fine imitation of a prancing pony with
Gwilith, giggling happily, perched upon his right shoulder.
"Ellon darianc! [Obstinate male!]" Meril huffed out as she gathered up
the rest of the dirty dishes, setting them neatly in a large woven
basket of river reeds. She took up the cloth, catching all the
crumbs and particles of food within its folds, and laid this atop the
plates and bowls. The table now stood barren and looked even more
out of place in the infant's nursery.
The royal consort stepped across the room to the cradle where Taurant
continued to sleep soundly, never having stirred throughout the course
of the dinner, exhausted from his long bout of weeping. Meril
adjusted his blanket and lightly caressed his hair, her features
transformed with loving endearment.
Then the softness departed and in its stead a fierce and unyielding
determination to protect her babe's auspicious future as heir to the
Woodland Realm filled her eyes. She turned from the crib and
found the bell pull next to the mantle, yanking it twice with undo
force. It would be a few moments before her attendants reached
the high chambers and so she carried the basket out to the front
parlour and then returned the chairs to the balcony, setting them
outside the nursery rather in than their usual place beyond the royal
couple's boudoir. The servants would do the same for the table.
Three domestics arrived and two took care of rearranging the furniture
in the nursery, stealing adoring peeks at the tiny prince as they
passed, while the other carried away the basket. Once the rocker
was back next the hearth and the fire nicely stoked, one of the
servants bowed himself out. The inu remaining smiled at Meril and
the two exited the child's room and entered the royal consort's private
study.
They sat before her fireplace and clasped hands together, for these two
had been friends from childhood. In fact, this worthy retainer
was Meril's principle source of inside information regarding the royal
family and had been for centuries. Ben'waeth [According to the
Wind] was her name and she worked in the kitchens. The fact that
Meril was now part of that family had not altered their close
relationship.
"What news?" asked Meril.
"There is nothing of import. Except the outcast has been seen on
the forest paths with the Noldo Lord, letting the gódhel [deep
elf, Noldo] make love to him," Ben'waeth replied with a twinkle.
"Well even Thranduil possesses that secret!" scoffed Meril and her
friend giggled. "There must be something more going on. The
King seems almost solicitous toward his former heir this night."
And for the first time Ben'waeth, her long Woodland nose
notwithstanding, hesitated to reveal what she had heard from one of the
gardeners who had received the tale from one of the grooms who had been
crossing the stable yard when the warriors surrounded their King.
"I knew it!" gloated Meril. "Tell me, for it must be important if
you must consider so carefully before you speak."
"Aye," the elleth breathed a deep breath. "Talagan and his
warriors were on the verge of ousting the King this day."
The sharp gasp that fled the royal consort's lips would normally have
pleased her friend and fellow quidnunc, for theirs was a running game
of one-upmanship in the gleaning of gossip, each one's goal to nonplus
the other. This time no gleeful laughter followed Meril's obvious
shock.
"What is the meaning of this? What happened?"
"It seems that Sylvan and Sindar alike have made their decision to back
the Tawarwaith. They respect the wild elf's spirit and the
upholding of oaths sworn to friends in need. They honour the
defender of the trees and the grandson of Oropher."
"Yes, 'Hîl od Oropher', so I heard also. But why now and
what stemmed the flux of mutinous intent?" asked Meril, though already
her clever mind thought she had the answer. Thranduil would make
the Tawarwaith his ally rather than lose the support of his troops.
"They heard the voice of Tawar today," her friend shrugged; it was the
truth. "The King has forgiven the outcast and all that remains is
for the Council to undergo the formality of completing the hearing and
reversing the Judgement, for none now think the archer guilty.
Suspicion has fallen upon Maltahondo instead."
Meril got up and paced across the elegantly appointed room, frustrated
to hear this though it was no more than she had surmised. This
explained the abrupt felicity Thranduil had for his first wife's
child. How to deal with it, that became her immediate
concern. She could not allow the disgraced archer to resume his
place within the stronghold and supplant her son's destiny.
"Yet he cannot be the heir of the Woodland Realm," she said, as though
her thoughts had been voiced aloud, "for Ningloriel departed and
renounced all her claims by formal decree to the Council," she relaxed
and smiled as she returned to her seat. "The Council may clear
his name but cannot restore his title. Ningloriel, foolish inu,
stripped her child of his birthright in her selfish and cowardly act of
desertion!"
"Indeed, but Tirno does not care about that anyway," Ben'waeth had no
difficulty comprehending what chain of speculation had generated these
remarks from her life-long friend. "Truly, you were mistaken to
feel he meant harm to his brother," her friend remonstrated.
"I heard what I heard! You surprise me; there is no proof of his
kinship and we perceive why there never will be. It was you who
informed me of Maltahondo's affair with the Queen, after all!" retorted
Meril.
"Aye," said Ben'waeth and tears filled her eyes as she realised how
much worse the situation was for Legolas if such suspicions were true.
"Dear Ben'waeth!" Meril exclaimed and embraced her friend warmly.
"What ails you?"
"You and I have been like sisters all these many centuries!" she said
and shook her head where it rested on Meril's shoulder. "But I
find my taste for this tale has changed; it is unsavoury like butter
gone rancid. I wish no harm to you and your children, but neither
can I hope for any more ill-fate to dog the Tawarwaith. I would
have you speak of Erebor."
Meril held her friend away at arms' length and studied her intently,
reading there the signs of words held back and information kept secret
from her. She dropped her hold and frowned in hurt reproach.
"So. We will not speak of it then. As for Erebor, I cannot
leave Taurant during these early days. You heard his tears today,
how much worse would it be were I to desert him to attend this sordid
event?" she said coolly.
A silence like the deadened quality in winter's air before laden clouds
dumped drifts upon the lands below extended between them and if it was
not the first storm the two had weathered in their friendship it boded
to be the most severe.
"And where is Maltahondo? What is amiss with him? Is he
being held because of this purported complicity at Erebor?" Meril
picked up the former tone of their conversation and if the
conspiratorial camaraderie was less convivial both chose to ignore that.
"The guardsman was nearly choked to death, set upon by the Noldo
Lord. He is in the healing wards under guard. The Imladrian
had news of Maltahondo we would never have guessed." She paused,
seemingly to savour her undeniable victory in their game this night,
but in actuality she was trying to concoct a plausible lie to tell and
thus refrain from repeating the corpsman's real crime and betraying the
Tawarwaith.
"Ai! You are terrible! Speak!" admonished Meril, throwing
up her hands in exasperation.
"You know of the guardsman's long tenure among the Galadhrim whilst in
Lorien with Ningloriel? Well it would seem the unworthy warrior
took advantage of a youth." Now both the statements were truth,
but spoken side by side they presented an image that was nonetheless
entirely false. Ben'waeth cared not; she had heard the voice of
Tawar also. Even more, she had served in this stronghold while
the illicit affair was going on. In retrospect, many small events
that had been merely odd at the time now pointed to the horrid acts
perpetrated upon the fallen prince, and her guilt was accumulating.
Meril had thought she could not be surprised further, but this was not
what she had suspected. She could only stare in disgusted denial
that any elf could behave so foully to another, and an innocent at that.
"Oh Eru! And the Noldo, is he kin to the child? Will
Maltahondo be removed to face charges in Lorien?" She hoped this
was the case, for she was uncertain what the guardsman might say about
the Battle of the Five Armies.
"I think the relationship between the victim and the Noldo is not of
blood but deep friendship. The Imladrian learned of it only
lately, according to words spoken by his friend, the human, in converse
with the wizard. Truly I cannot say how he learned the ugly
secret." Ben'waeth dared supply no further hints, for Meril was
adept at deciphering the underlying message encoded in the spaces
between the words.
The servant, who knew the fullness of events that had transpired in her
friend's life, felt it unlikely for the royal consort to change her
mind regarding Erebor and she did not want to give Meril more hearsay
to use against the Tawarwaith. The situation between the
guardsman and his charge might easily be used to establish the presence
of distraction to Legolas, or of protecting Malthen to the exclusion of
the rest of the warriors. The less informed Meril was, the fewer
such conclusions would arise among the general population.
Ben'waeth waited patiently to learn how this half-truth would be
received.
"I see," Meril did perceive her friend was holding back and this
spurred both her curiosity and her anger. Nothing more would she
hear of use tonight and so she stood, holding out her hand to
Ben'waeth. "Do not fret, I will try to uncover more. I will
be certain to inform you of what I find. I must go and tuck
Gwilith in for her reverie."
Ben'waeth rose and clasped Meril's hand. The dismissal was clear; she
would not have further chances to sway her friend's opinions this
evening.
If only Meril was not so stubborn and could admit she is
wrong! Ben'waeth smiled thinly and left, bidding the royal
consort a good night, saddened to find herself torn between friendship
and faith.
Tbc
Tbc
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